


Open Doors

by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill)



Series: Significance [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Harry Potter, boys having feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 19:45:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10974099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumosed_quill/pseuds/lq_traintracks
Summary: More secret sex in a loo. More ~feelings.





	Open Doors

**Author's Note:**

> For draco100's prompt, _ritual_ and harry100's prompt, _restless_.

It wasn't habit. Neither was it accidental. It wasn't planned exactly. But it had come to be… expected.

The first time had been a fluke – that Draco and his friends had ended up at the same pub as Potter's crew. That he and Potter had been the last remaining in the Apparition alley at the end of the night. 

That Draco had said something snarky, and Potter's jaw stiffened. That it had come to drawn wands, squaring off. 

Then, maybe because of the alcohol involved, the clattering of wands to the ground.

Potter's hand in his hair.

Lips colliding.

Ignition.

 

Harry didn't research where Draco was going to be on any given evening. Sometimes he 'casually inquired'. It was handy that Hermione had befriended Daphne, who was Parkinson's right hand.

He was nonchalant about it. And sometimes he didn't ask at all. Sometimes he just went out with his friends and…

There he'd be, blond hair falling into his eyes, looking, as ever, bored. Except not bored.

Lonely.

Draco would meet Harry's gaze, flick his hair, lift a brow and…

The competition would begin: Who would last longest? Who would excuse himself first and by leaving confess:

_I want you._

 

Draco convinced himself that it didn't matter who left the room first; they'd both end up in the same place, panting the same breaths, coming quick.

Except that there were those times it was slower than it should have been. Dangerously slow, increasing the odds they'd be caught.

There were times when Potter would ward the door, walk leisurely to Draco at the sinks and press against him, hands on his hips, gaze raking down Draco's body, then meandering up.

Draco's held breath, hands tight around cold porcelain…

Then Potter, catching Draco's eye in the mirror and unbuckling his belt.

 

_"Are you crying?"_

Harry really could have kicked himself the moment he said it. If he hadn't already been busy trying to get Draco off he might have.

It had just shocked him, seeing Draco's eyes gone slate blue with swimming tears.

Draco had snarked back, because that's what he did. He'd turned in Harry's arms and they'd finished that way, Draco spilling over his knuckles, Harry coming in his pants.

Six weeks of meeting like this, and it had never been so awkward after.

Draco had fled before the cleaning charms had stopped tingling, the door slamming with finality.

 

The crying thing was a complete anomaly. 

And for Merlin's sake, it wasn't _crying_ per se. 

Could he help it if Potter's hand around his cock, pulling slowly and twisting with perfect cruelty, was more than enough to drive tears into Draco's eyes, to push him to the ragged edge?

It was simply about the impending orgasm and how infernally good Potter was at getting him there. Nothing more.

Draco sipped his drink, his skin still hot from the all-too-recent sex.

The graceless git _had_ to go and say something. Tactless Gryffindor.

Stupid fucking plonker and his bloody fantastic handj—

 

"Hey." Harry forced the word out – like he'd forced himself to walk over to the table where Draco's friends sat to stand obstinately right behind Draco's chair. "Get you chaps anything? I'm headed to the bar."

A tableful of stunned Slytherins would have been an amusing triumph any other time.

"No," Parkinson finally blurted into the silence. "Thank you."

And then he'd done it before he could talk himself out of it (like so much in his life): Harry laid his hand on Draco's shoulder.

"All right then. Have a good night."

Harry smiled, squeezed Draco's shoulder, and walked away.

 

Potter's illicit handprint remained on Draco like a magical signature, emblazoned there for all to see.

"What's with the face?" Pansy asked, lips twitching.

Draco opened his mouth to deflect, to give her shit about her slaggy dress or something, when she leaned in and whispered, "You should let him buy you a drink, darling."

He flinched. 

But his gaze was already drifting Potter's direction, succumbing to the undeniable pull.

His world stopped when Potter glanced over and their gazes locked.

Potter gave a small smile. And it seemed an apology, an invitation, a door opened rather than slammed shut.

 

Harry nursed a watered-down drink, his arse going numb from camping out on the barstool too long. 

"Last call," said the bartender, and before Harry could decline…

"Two, please." Draco slid in, leaning a forearm against the bar. He pierced Harry with a haughty glare. "I don't cry."

Harry caught himself gaping and cleared his throat. "Not even at weddings?"

"Especially not at weddings, Potter," Draco scoffed.

Harry considered that. "Well, what if I do?"

"Do you?" Draco asked, carefully glib. 

Harry watched the fluttering pulse at the base of Draco's throat, then met his gaze. He smiled. "Of course."

 

Draco sipped his drink, stopping Potter when he attempted to pay and sliding his own Galleons across the bar instead.

"Uh, thanks."

"You can get the next one," Draco informed him.

"It's last call."

Draco lifted a brow and waited, while inside he burned.

Potter cottoned on. "I do happen to have a drinks cabinet at home." 

Draco grinned and threw down his drink.

Potter stood then, crowding into Draco's space. Draco didn't step away.

"People will see," he said as Potter's hand slipped around his back.

Potter angled his head, his lips nearing. He whispered, "Good," before they kissed.


End file.
